"God Damn it! I'm your father, give me the bread. Do you expect me to pick this greasy piece of sausage up out of the grass and eat it without any bread?"
"Fuck you, I don't care what you do. Eat your sausage, don't eat your sausage, I don't care but I'm not giving you the fuckin bread."
"I can't believe that you expect your father to pick this greasy piece of sausage out of the grass and eat it without any bread."
There was a pause and then the sound of a plastic bag hitting the ground after being thrown from some distance.
"There's the bread, now eat your fuckin sausage"
The sky had only just started getting light on Saturday morning of RockyGrass when this exchange took place. The father and son, who were our neighbors at the Meadow's Park Campground in Lyons had been up all night partying and playing their instruments and carrying on. Bree crawled out of our tent to see the father, Randy, slouched over on the cot we had set up as a bench outside of our tent. His still lit joint smoldered in the grass beside our tent and his beer had been tipped over. Bree, being a helpful and considerate neighbor, extinguished the doobie and placed it and the beer on one of the tables our neighbors had set up under a canopy.
I got up somewhat later and Randy was still on the cot beside our tent. I had been somewhat oblivious to what all had been going on so it was Bree who filled me in on all the details later. I had no idea that we would have a guest in our camp that morning, but considering the atmosphere of the festival and our campground, I wasn't at all surprised. 900 campers were packed into the relatively small park beside the St. Vrain River, but despite the cramped quarters and occasionally smelly portable toilets, everyone seemed to be getting along. Every one I met seemed happy to strike up a conversation and share stories. Only briefly during our second night at the camp did I get slightly irritated. And that was when I was awakened to some drunken shouting at about five in the morning which was followed up by the sounds of a jam circle with some scorching mandolin riffs at about five o'clock in the morning. Don't get me wrong, I like the mandolin as much as the next swingin' bluegrass aficionados, but I had gotten to bed late and was having a hard time sleeping the way it was. Dawn finally put a damper on the festivities.
We arrived Friday morning to find that the campground was practically full already. Apparently people had been arriving since Monday and setting up their compounds, some of which were
very extensive. Although there were no vehicle campers around where we were, some people had generators while other camps were equipped with solar panels. We dropped off our modest stock of gear, and I went to park the car in a remote lot about a mile away.
We finally walked through the gates of the festival in the late morning in time to catch The Wilders. Since it was our first time at the festival, we found that most of the ground had already been staked out by people laying down tarps to reserve space for themselves. It seemed very first come first serve and it struck me that a lot of people were going to wind up with terrible seats for the performances, but the festival rules state basically that even though you can put a tarp down to reserve a spot for yourself, if you aren't there anybody else has the right to use it also. And according to the rules, also, if you come back and find somebody on your tarp, you have the "right to become lifelong friends." So basically it
wasn't much of an issue. I figure, I'll let other people get in line at 7 in the morning to be the first one through the gate in the morning to throw down a blanket somewhere and then when I get up later and after some coffee and playing with Rachel, I can go over and find a perfectly good spot. In this case it wasn't even an issue at all. We wound up sharing a tarp with a group of guys from Tupolo, Mississippi, one of whom was sipping from a large flask full of Grand Marnais. He said he comes to the festival every year.
For Bree and I, having Rachel there posed some new challenges for us. We rarely made it through an entire performance without having to take Rach somewhere to go play or to go and change a diaper, but for the most part, she was quite good. She even seemed to enjoy herself. This is a very family friendly festival and parts of the grounds are simply grassy areas under massive cottonwood trees where children and families could go and escape from the crowds near the stage. For older kids, there is even a small beach area along the St Vrain River which was always packed during the day. Many people from the Meadow's campground where we stayed
would bring their big inner tubes into the festival, and then hop in the river and float the three blocks or so back to the campground. No glass containers were allowed inside the festival grounds, but these huge rubber inner tubes were apparently no problem. Smoking weed apparently wasn't much of a problem for the people who run the festival either. Anyone who smoked cigarettes was restricted to a small tent far to the rear of the grounds, but pot was consumed openly just about everywhere with the possible exception of the Family Arts and Crafts Tent.
We saw a number of acts the first day, including Del McCoury, Sam Bush and Peter Rowan. I'd
seen Del McCoury before but never Sam Bush. Even though he's been in the business since the late 60's, which is not quite as long as Del McCoury, he put on a fantastic, energetic show.
That night at camp Rachel didn't want to go to sleep. She thought being in the tent was just great fun and obviously didn't associate it with bed time. Our cause was not helped by all of the commotion going on around camp, but even without all the music and loud talking, I don't think Rachel would have wanted to go to sleep until very late. I took one small walk around the campground and witnessed some sort of bizarre wedding ceremony being officiated by a young guy in a bright red and ornately decorated sombrero going on under another group of canopies that had been moved together in a row. The bride was wearing a halter top and had a white feather boa wrapped around her head like a
turban. The groom wore a tee shirt and boxer briefs. The best man wore a helmet that was not unlike the one Luke Skywalker wore when he piloted the X-Wing Fighter in his heroic effort against the Death Star. The line of canopies opened into a large peaked tent which had icy blue lights strung around the inside. This tent was referred to as the "Twinkle, Twinkle Tent" and was apparently where the consummation was to take place as the group of friends continued to party through the night right outside.
The next morning we saw a band called Bearfoot, who I had never heard of before. They are from Alaska and are all very young. I think they have the potential to do big things in the
business. I am now officially a fan. Later in the day we saw the Claire Lynch Band. Eighty Five year old banjo pioneer, Earl Scruggs came on after she did with his band. Despite the fact that it rained off and on throughout the performance it was still a memorable experience to hear him picking on the bluegrass anthem, Foggy Mountain Breakdown.
It had been raining off and on all afternoon, which was getting to be kind of a drag. There were covered places where we could take Rachel to crawl around where she wouldn't get too soaked, but my butt was soaked after a brief downpour sent a small river down the tarp I was sitting on right into my backside. Bree and I were both concerned about keeping Rachel dry and warm as well. Steve Earl finished up the night playing with his old band The Bluegrass Dukes. Most of the music I've heard from him in the past has not been bluegrass, but this show, despite the almost constant rain was one of the highlights for me.
We got back to camp to find it very quiet. Our old friend Randy from the morning was sitting in a camp chair under a canopy telling stories to a couple of women. Few other people were around or out of their tents. We all blamed it on the rain
dampening everybodies spirits. I had a couple of beers with them and learned that Randy lives on a large piece of land that he owns in New Mexico, just south of the Colorado border near Durango. In between drags on his blunt, he mused about setting up a bluegrass festival on his land someday.
We went to bed soon afterward and actually fell asleep. Sleep was not to last long because the campground filled up soon afterward with people who had been at a surprise performance by Red Knuckles in the Wildflower Pavilion that started at 11. So now that it was around 1 in the morning, it was time for the real partying to begin around the camp. I'm ashamed to admit I was not in the least bit interested in joining in. I was more concerned about them waking Rachel and keeping Bree and I up all night.
Sunday morning was very pleasant. The rain had finally stopped and our things started drying off. I made coffee by boiling water with my little camp stove and using the French Press. This is
the type of roughing it that I can get on board with. Rachel played with Isabel, the little girl from the next tent, and we sat around and talked with our neighbors. Everybody had stories to tell and it was interesting for us to listen and share our own tales. I was a little surprised to find out how many people had travelled from other states to be in attendance. We talked to people from down south and states out east who claimed that this was their favorite bluegrass event. Most folks had been to several different festivals and many knew each other from years past. There is a sub-culture built around these types of events and the music whose existence I had never really been fullly aware of.
We took some time to break down the camp and I went to get the car so that we could load it up in the morning. We figured that if it started raining again that we would be better off having everything packed away so that it could stay dry. Not to mention the fact that breaking down a camp in the rain is never fun or is unpacking everything again after you get home so it can dry out.
That afternoonwe saw the Steep Canyon Rangers and Sarah Jarosz. Later we saw the 2nd half of the Darrell Scott Bluegrass Band. I really enjoyed Darrell Scott. After a late afternoon performance by Danny Paisley & The Southern Grass, there was a slot on the schedule that was listed as TBA. A rumour that I had heard that morning was that the secret performer that the promoters were keeping secret was Steve Martin, the actor and comedian who got his start playing the banjo. The special guest turned out to be The Yonder Mountain String Band.
This is a group, formed over 10 years ago in Nederland, Co, that has really hit the big time. I've wanted to see them for years so I was pleasantly surprised to learn that they were on the bill. Their performance did not disappoint. I look forward to seeing them again one of these days.
It was about 8 o'clock when they finished playing and Rachel was starting to act a little impatient. So rather than stay late and see Hot Rize, the evening's headliner, we opted to call it a weekend and head back to Denver.
I look forward to having the opportunity to attend more of these festivals in the years to come. It was a very nice way to spend the weekend with my wife and daughter. We saw a lot of great music and met some interesting people. Even the food from the on-site vendors was memorable. Maybe we'll finally make it to Telluride next year for their festival.
"Fuck you, I don't care what you do. Eat your sausage, don't eat your sausage, I don't care but I'm not giving you the fuckin bread."
"I can't believe that you expect your father to pick this greasy piece of sausage out of the grass and eat it without any bread."
There was a pause and then the sound of a plastic bag hitting the ground after being thrown from some distance.
"There's the bread, now eat your fuckin sausage"
The sky had only just started getting light on Saturday morning of RockyGrass when this exchange took place. The father and son, who were our neighbors at the Meadow's Park Campground in Lyons had been up all night partying and playing their instruments and carrying on. Bree crawled out of our tent to see the father, Randy, slouched over on the cot we had set up as a bench outside of our tent. His still lit joint smoldered in the grass beside our tent and his beer had been tipped over. Bree, being a helpful and considerate neighbor, extinguished the doobie and placed it and the beer on one of the tables our neighbors had set up under a canopy.
I got up somewhat later and Randy was still on the cot beside our tent. I had been somewhat oblivious to what all had been going on so it was Bree who filled me in on all the details later. I had no idea that we would have a guest in our camp that morning, but considering the atmosphere of the festival and our campground, I wasn't at all surprised. 900 campers were packed into the relatively small park beside the St. Vrain River, but despite the cramped quarters and occasionally smelly portable toilets, everyone seemed to be getting along. Every one I met seemed happy to strike up a conversation and share stories. Only briefly during our second night at the camp did I get slightly irritated. And that was when I was awakened to some drunken shouting at about five in the morning which was followed up by the sounds of a jam circle with some scorching mandolin riffs at about five o'clock in the morning. Don't get me wrong, I like the mandolin as much as the next swingin' bluegrass aficionados, but I had gotten to bed late and was having a hard time sleeping the way it was. Dawn finally put a damper on the festivities.
We arrived Friday morning to find that the campground was practically full already. Apparently people had been arriving since Monday and setting up their compounds, some of which were
very extensive. Although there were no vehicle campers around where we were, some people had generators while other camps were equipped with solar panels. We dropped off our modest stock of gear, and I went to park the car in a remote lot about a mile away.We finally walked through the gates of the festival in the late morning in time to catch The Wilders. Since it was our first time at the festival, we found that most of the ground had already been staked out by people laying down tarps to reserve space for themselves. It seemed very first come first serve and it struck me that a lot of people were going to wind up with terrible seats for the performances, but the festival rules state basically that even though you can put a tarp down to reserve a spot for yourself, if you aren't there anybody else has the right to use it also. And according to the rules, also, if you come back and find somebody on your tarp, you have the "right to become lifelong friends." So basically it
wasn't much of an issue. I figure, I'll let other people get in line at 7 in the morning to be the first one through the gate in the morning to throw down a blanket somewhere and then when I get up later and after some coffee and playing with Rachel, I can go over and find a perfectly good spot. In this case it wasn't even an issue at all. We wound up sharing a tarp with a group of guys from Tupolo, Mississippi, one of whom was sipping from a large flask full of Grand Marnais. He said he comes to the festival every year.For Bree and I, having Rachel there posed some new challenges for us. We rarely made it through an entire performance without having to take Rach somewhere to go play or to go and change a diaper, but for the most part, she was quite good. She even seemed to enjoy herself. This is a very family friendly festival and parts of the grounds are simply grassy areas under massive cottonwood trees where children and families could go and escape from the crowds near the stage. For older kids, there is even a small beach area along the St Vrain River which was always packed during the day. Many people from the Meadow's campground where we stayed
would bring their big inner tubes into the festival, and then hop in the river and float the three blocks or so back to the campground. No glass containers were allowed inside the festival grounds, but these huge rubber inner tubes were apparently no problem. Smoking weed apparently wasn't much of a problem for the people who run the festival either. Anyone who smoked cigarettes was restricted to a small tent far to the rear of the grounds, but pot was consumed openly just about everywhere with the possible exception of the Family Arts and Crafts Tent.We saw a number of acts the first day, including Del McCoury, Sam Bush and Peter Rowan. I'd
seen Del McCoury before but never Sam Bush. Even though he's been in the business since the late 60's, which is not quite as long as Del McCoury, he put on a fantastic, energetic show.That night at camp Rachel didn't want to go to sleep. She thought being in the tent was just great fun and obviously didn't associate it with bed time. Our cause was not helped by all of the commotion going on around camp, but even without all the music and loud talking, I don't think Rachel would have wanted to go to sleep until very late. I took one small walk around the campground and witnessed some sort of bizarre wedding ceremony being officiated by a young guy in a bright red and ornately decorated sombrero going on under another group of canopies that had been moved together in a row. The bride was wearing a halter top and had a white feather boa wrapped around her head like a
turban. The groom wore a tee shirt and boxer briefs. The best man wore a helmet that was not unlike the one Luke Skywalker wore when he piloted the X-Wing Fighter in his heroic effort against the Death Star. The line of canopies opened into a large peaked tent which had icy blue lights strung around the inside. This tent was referred to as the "Twinkle, Twinkle Tent" and was apparently where the consummation was to take place as the group of friends continued to party through the night right outside.The next morning we saw a band called Bearfoot, who I had never heard of before. They are from Alaska and are all very young. I think they have the potential to do big things in the
business. I am now officially a fan. Later in the day we saw the Claire Lynch Band. Eighty Five year old banjo pioneer, Earl Scruggs came on after she did with his band. Despite the fact that it rained off and on throughout the performance it was still a memorable experience to hear him picking on the bluegrass anthem, Foggy Mountain Breakdown.It had been raining off and on all afternoon, which was getting to be kind of a drag. There were covered places where we could take Rachel to crawl around where she wouldn't get too soaked, but my butt was soaked after a brief downpour sent a small river down the tarp I was sitting on right into my backside. Bree and I were both concerned about keeping Rachel dry and warm as well. Steve Earl finished up the night playing with his old band The Bluegrass Dukes. Most of the music I've heard from him in the past has not been bluegrass, but this show, despite the almost constant rain was one of the highlights for me.
We got back to camp to find it very quiet. Our old friend Randy from the morning was sitting in a camp chair under a canopy telling stories to a couple of women. Few other people were around or out of their tents. We all blamed it on the rain
dampening everybodies spirits. I had a couple of beers with them and learned that Randy lives on a large piece of land that he owns in New Mexico, just south of the Colorado border near Durango. In between drags on his blunt, he mused about setting up a bluegrass festival on his land someday.We went to bed soon afterward and actually fell asleep. Sleep was not to last long because the campground filled up soon afterward with people who had been at a surprise performance by Red Knuckles in the Wildflower Pavilion that started at 11. So now that it was around 1 in the morning, it was time for the real partying to begin around the camp. I'm ashamed to admit I was not in the least bit interested in joining in. I was more concerned about them waking Rachel and keeping Bree and I up all night.
Sunday morning was very pleasant. The rain had finally stopped and our things started drying off. I made coffee by boiling water with my little camp stove and using the French Press. This is
the type of roughing it that I can get on board with. Rachel played with Isabel, the little girl from the next tent, and we sat around and talked with our neighbors. Everybody had stories to tell and it was interesting for us to listen and share our own tales. I was a little surprised to find out how many people had travelled from other states to be in attendance. We talked to people from down south and states out east who claimed that this was their favorite bluegrass event. Most folks had been to several different festivals and many knew each other from years past. There is a sub-culture built around these types of events and the music whose existence I had never really been fullly aware of.We took some time to break down the camp and I went to get the car so that we could load it up in the morning. We figured that if it started raining again that we would be better off having everything packed away so that it could stay dry. Not to mention the fact that breaking down a camp in the rain is never fun or is unpacking everything again after you get home so it can dry out.
That afternoonwe saw the Steep Canyon Rangers and Sarah Jarosz. Later we saw the 2nd half of the Darrell Scott Bluegrass Band. I really enjoyed Darrell Scott. After a late afternoon performance by Danny Paisley & The Southern Grass, there was a slot on the schedule that was listed as TBA. A rumour that I had heard that morning was that the secret performer that the promoters were keeping secret was Steve Martin, the actor and comedian who got his start playing the banjo. The special guest turned out to be The Yonder Mountain String Band.
This is a group, formed over 10 years ago in Nederland, Co, that has really hit the big time. I've wanted to see them for years so I was pleasantly surprised to learn that they were on the bill. Their performance did not disappoint. I look forward to seeing them again one of these days.It was about 8 o'clock when they finished playing and Rachel was starting to act a little impatient. So rather than stay late and see Hot Rize, the evening's headliner, we opted to call it a weekend and head back to Denver.
I look forward to having the opportunity to attend more of these festivals in the years to come. It was a very nice way to spend the weekend with my wife and daughter. We saw a lot of great music and met some interesting people. Even the food from the on-site vendors was memorable. Maybe we'll finally make it to Telluride next year for their festival.
